


The Spirit of Meow

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Cats, Crack, Fenris: His Meowiness the Lord High King of Cats, He just hasn't noticed yet, Kitty!Anders, M/M, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-12 21:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3356729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hawke and Anders have been missing for a week, Hawke shows up at Fenris's door with a scrawny, orange cat, begging him to look after the thing, while Anders is away. Fenris reluctantly agrees, and then discovers the cat houses a Fade spirit. Of course, being a cat, it can't speak to him, but they find a way to communicate, sort of, and Fenris finds some comfort in a creature that can't sass him.</p><p>Then Fenris discovers where Anders went, and the shit hits the fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catharticEscapism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catharticEscapism/gifts).



Fenris wondered what sort of trouble the apostates had been getting each other into, lately, since he hadn't seen either one in a week. No trips down to the coast, no clearing out bandits in the docks, at night. Just... nothing. Neither of them had shown up to Wicked Grace night, either. He assumed if they were dead, Varric would have told him. Still, after a week of haunting the docks for slave ships, by himself, he was starting to wonder. Maybe he should ask Donnic and Aveline to come out with him, one night. They were always up for a righteous fight, in the name of the continued safety of Kirkwall.

And then came the knock. _Hawke's_ knock, from the sound of it. Oh, lovely, at least one of them was intact. He opened the door and squinted irritatedly at the mage standing in the fog, carrying something wrapped in a towel. Yes, that was a grin. Yes, that was the grin that said Hawke had done something stupid.

"What?" It was barely a question.

"Anders and I need your help..." Hawke looked at anything that wasn't Fenris.

"Tell me something I don't know." Impatience radiated from the elf.

"There's this cat, and it's a very important cat, and I just need you to look after it for a little while. Shouldn't be more than a few days." Hawke held up his hand. "I know, why am I not letting Anders take care of the cat, but he's already involved in the situation, taking care of another part of things."

"A cat." Fenris just stared. "You want me to look after a cat."

"I'd do it, but I've got Martigan. You know mabari are smart enough to do things I thought you'd need thumbs for, but they're not smart enough to avoid chasing cats, apparently." Hawke looked damp and desperate. "Please. It's just a few days. Just until Anders gets back."

"I'm going to regret this." Fenris sighed and held out his hands. "What does it eat? Where does it expect to shit?"

"Eats meat and shits in a box," Hawke said, with a nod, putting the towel-wrapped cat in Fenris's hands. "I think he would prefer the box to be out of sight, and so will you. And he likes nug ham. I'll bring enough for both of you, in the morning."

The cat was lighter than he expected, a raggedy-looking, spindly orange thing, with one yellow eye and one blue. Holding it was like taking a piece of the Fade in his hands, which was extremely unusual. But, Hawke had said it was important, and that was probably the reason why. "How long am I stuck with this Fade-touched beast?"

"It should only be a few days. Not long." Hawke leaned down and nuzzled the cat, which began to purr. "I'll be back in the morning with food for you both. Be nice to the handsome elf, Cinnamon Bun."

The cat -- Cinnamon Bun, it seemed -- sneezed on Hawke's cheek and then busied itself washing a paw.

"Flattery is cheap, Hawke, but nug ham may win you redemption for this inconvenience."

Hawke looked like he might throw up, and Fenris assumed he was worried for the abomination. They were so in love, Fenris couldn't stand to look at them, some days. That they were mages didn't make it much easier, most other days.

With a flick of his fingers, Hawke vanished back into the fog, and Fenris was left alone with the cat, which studied him intently.

"I can tell you're the abomination's cat. Ser Pounce-a-lot, Cinnamon Bun, what's next?"

The cat squinted at him and chuffed, stretching one paw up to knead the elf's chin.

"Yes, you're very sharp," Fenris conceded. "I can't keep calling you Cinnamon Bun, you know, cat. It's too long. What if I just call you Bun?"

"Murr," the cat replied, taking back its paw.

"Is that approval? I'm afraid I don't speak cat. Of course, I don't suppose you speak Tevene or Fereldan." Fenris huffed and glanced around the hall. "Do you even understand what I'm saying to you?"

The cat gave him an unsettlingly wry look.

"Wonderful. I have a cat that may or may not be possessed by a fade spirit and potentially has the wits of a mabari. Potentially." He glowered at the cat. "You shit on my floor and I'm taking that back."

The cat squinted and chuffed, again.

"Yes, yes. Let's get you a box and a bowl of... something. Meat, he says. Do I buy meat? No. Why would I buy meat, when as soon as I bring it home, he's going to show up at my door and have me up Sundermount for a weekend?" 

Fenris continued to mutter under his breath all the way to the kitchen, where he managed to scrounge a few scraps of jerky and a pair of bowls. With those in one hand and the cat curled up in the crook of the other arm, he made his way upstairs. Dumping the cat on the bed, he set about making space for the cat, by the side of the fire.

"I don't have guests who stay the night," he told the cat, "so I just keep the chamber pot under the bed. No point stumbling through the house half-awake, if I don't have to. What if I put your box next to that?"

 _Talking to the cat_ , he scoffed in his own general direction. _You'll end up like that cat-crazed abomination._

But, the cat leapt off the bed and swaggered under it, returning after a moment, with no less arrogance than it had left. It licked its paw and watched him. "Yow."

"I'll take that as a yes." Fenris paused. "I can tell you're not _just_ a cat. Cats do not carry on conversations. You make the lyrium sing under my skin. Did the abomination finally pass off his possession on something else? Is that why he's not taking care of you?"

The cat stopped licking and just blinked at him, paw in the same position.

He took that as a 'no'. "Stay put. I'll get you a box. This house is not safe for cats."

The house wasn't safe for most things, as Hawke kept pointing out, but that was a side effect of it needing to seem abandoned if anyone checked. Which, after this many years, may have been abjectly foolish, but it was a habit. If nothing else, the locals thought the place was haunted. Which it was. By him.

Fenris brought back a box of fireplace ashes, from another room, and kicked it under the bed. "I have never had a cat. Nor have I had a Fade spirit. You will have to tell me if I do something wrong."

The cat leapt up onto the bed and yawned so wide Fenris thought the spirit might let itself out. "Mrrf," it declared, curling up and stretching out a paw to knead at the blanket.

Taking the suggestion, Fenris sat on the edge of the bed. _Accepting the invitations of demon cats, are you?_ he chided himself, swinging his legs up so he could sprawl. The cat pressed its head against his hand until he wound up petting it, just to make it stop pestering him. After a while, it began to make a strange growling-rumbling noise, but seemed uninterested in stopping him from petting it. He assumed it was a sound of contentment. He made a fairly similar sound, himself, with the right provocation, but he would not be discussing that with the cat.

"What do you do, Bun? I trust you can entertain yourself without burning my heap of corpses and trash to the ground?"

The cat simply purred and wrapped itself around his forearm. Fenris could feel the lyrium in his arm start to warm, but not painfully; it was just... warm. As the sensation wound its way up his arm and across his chest, he started to relax in ways and places he had no memory of ever having relaxed -- ever having even known were tense. He thought he might have intended to do something else, that night, but even that slipped away as he drifted off, the cat still purring against his arm. _Sloth demon_ , was his last thought, until morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a demon! It's a piss spirit! One more chapter. Just one.

Fenris woke up scrabbling at the blankets, as Hawke -- presumably Hawke, anyway -- hammered at the door. "Get off me, sloth demon," he hissed at the cat curled up on his chest.

The cat pinned him with a glare as it rose up in a way he thought meant it was going to leap over his head. So, he waited for it to do so. Instead, it peed on him. That, apparently, was what displeasure looked like.

Grabbing the cat by what seemed to be the terribly convenient cat-grabbing flap just above its shoulders, Fenris stormed downstairs and slammed the door open. Grabbing Hawke by the front of his extremely fashionable robe, Fenris lifted the mage off his feet and shook him. "Your demon-cat pissed on me," he snarled.

"I have ham?" Hawke held up the bag, and Fenris dropped him, turning back into the house, but leaving the door open.

"What did you do?" Hawke asked, following the elf in and closing the door behind him. Fenris did, in fact, appear to be dripping around the midsection.

"I called it a sloth demon. Which it is." Fenris held the still-glaring cat out to Hawke, who took the mangy-looking thing gently into his arms.

"It's not a demon. Do you really think I'd bring a demon here?" Hawke stroked the cat, soothingly, bag from the market still clutched in his hand.

Fenris glared, utterly unamused. "Sometimes, Hawke, I wonder if you'd know a demon if it was eating your ass."

"Anders isn't a demon, either. He's got some Fade difficulties. _You have some Fade difficulties_. His difficulties are just independently intelligent." Hawke shrugged and offered the bag. "Neither of them are demons, but they are both possessed. By spirits. Not demons. I did not give you a sloth demon."

"What kind of spirit just pissed all over my chest, then?" Fenris snarled, snatching the bag and opening it.

"The kind that objects to being called a demon, obviously. It's a cat. Answers are a little limited."

"Then how do you know it's not a demon?" Fenris demanded.

"Is it offering you anything? Tempting you in your dreams?" Hawke asked. "Because I can tell you it wasn't trying to lure me into its clutches all week. It's a cat, Fenris. It's doing cat things. But, with a spirit in it."

"A piss spirit," Fenris growled, returning his attention to the bag. "That is an extremely large amount of ham."

"It is. Look under it."

"And that is a bag of apples. Are you trying to bribe me?" Fenris squinted intently at Hawke.

"Yes. That's kind of the point, here. And that's how you can tell it's not a demon. If it was a demon, I wouldn't have to bribe you." Hawke stared back, dead-eyed and tight-lipped. "What makes you think it's a sloth demon, anyway? Cats being cats, I'd have thought maybe pride."

The cat reached up and dug its claws into Hawke's lip.

"Or rage. I've heard stories of a rage demon that possessed a cat. Took out three Templars," Hawke joked, eyes watering.

The cat chuffed and retracted its claws.

"Thank you, Cinnamon Bun."

Fenris occupied himself with fishing an apple out of the bag. Only the best one would do, and it kept him from looking at Hawke. "It curled up on my arm, and I fell asleep. I had no intention of sleeping, then."

"That's a cat problem, not a demon problem. I didn't believe it either, until Anders showed me." Hawke shrugged. "Non-possessed cats have the same effect, especially if you pet them."

"I was petting him. He made a strange rumbling sound, and then curled around my arm. It didn't feel like magic, but I was overcome with sleep." Fenris sounded completely confused by the experience.

"The word you're looking for is 'purring'." Hawke eyed the cat suspiciously. "Were you purring for him?"

The cat opened its eyes wide and blinked. "Mew?"

"Is that envy I see, Hawke? Does the animal not make such sounds for you?" Fenris was going to hold this over him forever.

Hawke took a deep breath, like he might reply loudly and at length, and then all the air rushed out of him, and his shoulders sagged. "Just means you're taking good care of him. It's important. Anders will be back soon. He'll tell you what happened."

"Why can't you tell me?" Fenris asked around a mouthful of apple.

"For Anders's safety, I can't tell anyone. He'll be safe, once he's back."

"You believe I would have anyone to tell?" Fenris recoiled like he'd been slapped.

"No, I don't think you would, even if you did. But, most of your windows are broken and your cellars are nearly as deep as mine. I can't take the chance." Hawke rubbed the cat's belly, smiling sadly. "He'll be home soon. We'll tell you as soon as he's safe."

"I'm going to regret ever having heard your name, aren't I?" Fenris sighed. "Very well. You keep us fed, and I will look after your fuzzy piss-spirit. Although one more stunt like that, and it's getting its very own room in the back of the house."

"Give me your clothes, Fenris. I'll have them cleaned. Probably end up better than rinsing them in your bathwater."

Fenris looked surprised for a moment. Like so many things about being a free man, the idea of _having_ his clothes cleaned had never occurred to him. He had rinsed them in rivers so many times on the run, that when he had his own bath, it seemed an extraordinary luxury not to be standing nude in the wild, waiting for his clothes to dry. "This I will do."

With a subtle twitch at the corner of his lips, he made his way up the stairs, only to return, a little while later, dressed in a tattered Nevarran dressing gown, that had probably come with the house, a bundle of black cloth tucked under his arm.

"This is your only set of clothes?" Hawke asked, trading the cat for the bundle.

"I have one other, but it is still cold and damp." Fenris shrugged, cradling Cinnamon Bun in his arms. "Laundry day."

"I'll bring these back in the morning. Fastest I can have it done." Hawke shrugged, apologetically. "If you need anything, send for me. I'll take care of it. Thank you for doing this. There's no one else I'd trust to look after him properly."

"What about Aveline and Donnic?" Fenris asked, in complete agreement about the rest of their companions. Isabela and Varric lived in a tavern, and cats were right out, under the circumstances. He wouldn't trust Merrill with a goldfish. Asking Sebastian for anything would be a mistake. And Anders was ... indisposed.

"He's allergic to cats, or she would have." Hawke rubbed his forehead with his knuckles. "Thanks again, Fenris."

Hawke took his leave, leaving Fenris alone with the cat, for the second time. 

"Ham?" Fenris asked, conversationally. "I left the bag upstairs. I will refrain from calling you a demon, if you would be so kind as to refrain from pissing on me."

The cat reached up and... Fenris was pretty sure it patted his cheek. No claws.

"I'll take that as an agreement, then, Bun." A small smile settled on Fenris's face, as he headed up the stairs. "If Hawke's buying us ham, I intend to eat until I can't. I should think you'd like to do the same."

"Mrrf," the cat replied.

And so, they lay in front of the fire eating ham, Fenris telling foolish stories of how he learnt to be free. A comedy of errors, and the cat chuffed and sneezed at all the right parts, occasionally pressing its nose against Fenris's hand to ask for another slice of ham.

As they sprawled, both just a little past too-well-fed, Fenris learnt more ofthe nature of cats. Petting was a good idea. Poking would start a fight, but not a vicious one. Poking the cat in the face with its own tail would result in a lot of posturing and an all-out assault on his hand. Still, no blood was drawn, on either side, which showed a remarkable amount of restraint from all involved.

Hours passed with little naps, storytelling, and rolling around on the exceedingly questionable floor. Fenris didn't much mind -- the robe was probably unsalvageable, anyway, especially after the cat got a claw stuck in it a couple of times. It didn't matter what shape he wound up in. There was no one to impress, except this small fuzzy creature, who had so little to say, and seemed so easily entertained. Fenris found a lightness in himself, that no one would know but this cat. It seemed a secret shared.

The next day came, as did Hawke, bearing more food and clean clothes. It went much as did the day before -- cuddling the cat, promising that Anders would be back soon, and offering to bring more supplies the next day. 

As days went by, the bribes extended to nearly filling the pantry, even as Fenris and the cat stuffed themselves silly, and out into new clothes and household goods. "I need you to take good care of him. He's very important," was all Hawke would say, when asked.

Days became weeks, and Hawke looked more and more neurotic, with every passing day. The cat tried to soothe him, and Fenris offered what little sympathy he had -- not that he was heartless, just that he had no idea what was going on, and Hawke still wouldn't tell. Still, Fenris was beginning to lose faith in Anders's survival, and he could tell the same thought was likely weighing on Hawke. Bloody-minded apostates, both, so similar in so many ways, but that Hawke was less obnoxiously revolutionary, and therefore more tolerable.

Finally, Fenris made an offer.

"Hawke, I've thrown out corpses, in the last week, that look better than you do, right now. Let me make things somewhat more presentable. Stay with us, tomorrow night. I can see that Bun calms you." It was a stupid offer. What good would the cat do? Hawke had his mabari for company, and probably Isabela, as well.

But, Hawke threw an arm around Fenris, pulling him into a tight hug, the cat still cradled between them, in the other arm, purring. His shoulders heaved, and he failed to make any coherent sounds for a while.

"Hawke. Mage. Stop touching me. It makes my skin crawl."

Hawke made some apologetic sounds and pulled back, passing Fenris the cat, as he blotted his eyes with the base of his thumb. "Tomorrow?"

"Night. I hope you don't sleep in the nude, but I suppose I do have those sleep robes you brought me, in case you forget your own." Fenris held the cat easily, as if it had always been his, and the cat purred loudly at the idea of Hawke staying.

"You know I'd sleep on your vile corpse-adorned floor. You don't have to --"

"What will we do, if you get sick, while we have no healer?" Fenris shook his head. "Tomorrow night, Hawke. Give me time." _Time to get used to the idea of you sleeping in my bed_.

"Tomorrow, then." Hawke went to let himself out, pausing with the door open. "Fenris --"

"Thank me? Yes, I know. You've said it every day since this began."

"I know this isn't easy. Thank you, again." Hawke pulled the door closed behind him.

"Well," Fenris addressed the cheerfully purring bundle of fur in his arms, "that was unexpected of me. I suppose we have our work cut out for us, Bun. Just the one room, I think. Let us do this before regret takes me."

So, they cleaned the bedroom, Fenris doing most of the work, while Cinnamon Bun directed from his perch on the foot of the bed. Fenris told tales of learning to steal and learning when not to kill. And ever so slowly, a room emerged from under all the filth, complete with the fresh bedclothes Hawke had provided and Fenris had still not used. It seemed a waste to put such nice things into a room where it still rained through the ceiling in a few places. He'd moved the bed out from under the holes as soon as he'd moved in, though.

While the room was not as clean as Orana could have made it, it was almost unrecognisable, in comparison to its earlier state. At last, Fenris threw himself onto the bed, with a tray of cheese and meat and fruit -- Hawke had been feeding them quite well -- and invited the cat to take what it wished, as he stuffed his face with the rest. Food, a clean bed, and a companion who would speak no ill. The entire situation seemed surreal, and he did wonder if he wasn't just trapped in some demon's hold. But, as Hawke had said, if it were a demon, what need would he have for bribes.

After a bath, he changed into something clean, and enjoyed the strange sensation of lying in, rather than just on, the bed. The crisp sheets against his toes, the smell of new, white cloth on the pillows, and the cat that curled up in the middle of his chest. Tomorrow, the cat would sleep between them, but for tonight, Bun belonged in what had become his usual place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this goes one more... Why does nothing I intend to be three chapters ever stop at three? This is so fucking dysfunctional, I don't even...

Fenris woke before dawn, to the burn of magic racing along the lyrium in his skin, lancing through him, cracking against itself and his bones. His eyes shot open to find the cat aglow on his chest, the radiant blue lighting the room. 

"What...?" he choked out, debating reaching for his sword.

The light grew larger, longer, heavier, if such a thing could be imagined, until it seemed to be a man sketched in radiant rays, with an orange cat where his heart should be.

"Demon cat-magister!" Fenris sputtered, knocking the sword over, as he reached for it. _Cat-magister? Really?_ he chided himself.

The thing was heavy, but he was strong. He could throw it off, easily, but this was still his friend, Bun. He had a certain reluctance to harm the little light in his life. The light that was becoming increasingly literal and bright. He would see it for what it was, first, and then he would decide if he had to kill it.

Stories of elven gods disguising themselves as animals danced through his head, as the light became too bright to see through, and the pressure on his body increased. Was that why this cat was so important? Was it one of the gods, hiding out in the world of men? That, frankly, was a terrifying thought, and one that raised a lot of questions for his faith.

As the light bled out, slowly dimming, the pressure resolved itself into a very tall bipedal shape -- a human or an elf -- with its head tucked under Fenris's chin. He raised one shoulder, to suggest it move off him.

"Fuck off. 'M sleeping," it muttered, settling onto him more solidly.

... That voice. He knew that voice. That was Anders.

"Get off me, abomination!" Fenris roared, sitting up and shoving Anders off himself.

"We've been over this," Anders grumbled, licking the back of his hand and rubbing his face. "I'm not--" 

And then it dawned on him, one hand slapping over the scar on his chest and the other reaching down to cover his junk. Those weren't cat sounds. He wasn't a cat.

Fenris stared in horror at the naked mage at the foot of his bed. Anders stared back, frozen in terror.

"You _lied_ to me!" Fenris roared, furious at this turn of events.

"I was a cat at the time!" Anders protested. "Blame Hawke, not me!"

"I trusted you. I thought you were my friend."

"I _am_ your friend, Fenris." Anders curled in on himself, scars on his shoulders standing out in relief against the firelight, as his hair fell forward. "I couldn't laugh with you. I couldn't tell you that you weren't alone. I was a cat, at the time. All I could do was purr and rub my face on you."

"You took the only thing I could count on to make me happy away from me, mage." The glow started in Fenris's hands.

"I'm still right here!" Anders protested. "I am exactly where you left me."

"You're not Bun. Or, rather, you are Bun, because Bun was never real. You showed me something, you made me think I could have it, and then you took it away from me. And that's what I get for trusting mages. You and Hawke both."

"I got turned into a fucking cat!" Anders shouted. "I just spent seven weeks licking my own ass! I am not responsible for any of this shit, unless it's the shit in the box under the bed!"

Fenris's eyes snapped up, and he grew deadly still, watching the abomination's face. Distress. Terror. Shame. _Serves him right._

Anders quieted. "I know why Hawke brought me here. I heard him say it over and over. You were the only one he could trust to look after me, until I was safe again. And, yes, Martigan really is a shithead, in case you were wondering. If it wasn't for the damned dog, I'd have stayed with Hawke."

His shoulders stiffened and curled forward, and Fenris could still see that bit of Bun left in the mage. The cat's ears would have been flattened back, ratty fur fluffed in all directions. Ratty because of the scars, Fenris realised. The scars hadn't left him when he changed.

"I wish he'd told you. I couldn't figure out how." Anders sighed. "And now I'm stuck here until he brings me clothes, aren't I."

Fenris held out his hand, without thinking, rubbing his thumb over the side of one knuckle, as he clicked his tongue. Anders stretched forward and rubbed his face against the hand, eyes still wary, back still tense. Fenris looked away, closed his eyes.

"Come back to bed, cat. I miss you." His fingertips ached as he rubbed behind Anders's ear. Pain shot across his palm. This was all wrong. This wasn't supposed to work like this. He'd been lied to and cheated, again, _by mages_ , but this mage, who had been his cat, looked so broken and small. Perhaps they'd both been cheated, this time. 

He would punch Hawke, in the morning, Fenris decided. It was Hawke's fault for giving him a fake cat that was only a slight improvement over a demon. It was Hawke's fault for not being there when the abomination changed back. _Actually, that's your fault,_ he reminded himself, but swept that thought away. Hawke would never have even asked, if Fenris hadn't given him the idea.

Anders had curled up as tightly as he could, tipping his head to give Fenris room to scratch his neck. His breathing was irregular, but soundless, and he shivered in the night air. The fire helped, but the broken windows and holes in the roof didn't.

"Just get under the blankets, before you freeze, Bun. You don't have fur any more," Fenris sighed. "I'd give you something to wear, but you're a damned giant."

Anders chuffed, quietly, and got under the blankets, curling up against Fenris's side. Fenris wrapped an arm around him, stroking his shoulder, rubbing his cheek, but still wouldn't look. 

"You told me stories," Anders whispers. "And you fed me. I don't think I've ever eaten so well for so long, in my life."

"Neither have I." Fenris sounded faintly amused. "Hawke did say he was bribing me with food, to take you."

"I hope my coat still fits..." Anders muttered.

"Fasta vass, mage, your coat had better fit. You are not wearing my bedsheets across Hightown."

A delicate silence hung between them, until the image became too much to bear. Anders snorted against Fenris's shoulder, and Fenris choked until a full-voiced laugh bubbled out of the depths of his chest.

"Venhedis." Fenris dragged a hand down his face, still chuckling. "I cannot cope with this shit."

"You, ser, did not spend seven weeks licking your own ass, speaking of coping with shit," Anders teased.

"And then you licked me." Fenris managed to look annoyed, even with his eyes closed.

"Well, yes. It's not like I had a different tongue to use. And I would have licked you, anyway. You were nice to me." Anders rubbed his cheek against Fenris's shoulder.

"Is that all it takes?" Fenris's eyebrows raised, from the bridge of his nose, and Anders braced himself for the punchline. He knew how that expression worked, by now. "Hawke's a lucky man."

"Hawke's going to be a lucky man if I don't set his ass on fire," Anders snarled.

"I'll race you to the door," Fenris offered, darkly.

"Let's not. You know he won't take you not responding as an answer. He'll let himself in, after a few minutes, like he did last week."

"And then what? He'll find us up here, and...?" Fenris looked confused.

"He'll find us up here, curled up in your bed, together, and he will ask himself what he did to deserve this." Anders smiled that dangerously unpleasant smile he saved for moments like these. "And I'm sure we'll be happy to tell him."

"And then he can get you some clothes."

"I miss being dressed," Anders sighed, curling up a little closer against Fenris. "It was warm."

Fenris made a small sound of amusement, scratching the back of Anders's head for a moment, before he tried to untangle himself and get up. "Stay put. This house is not safe for cats."

Anders smiled sadly and burrowed into the blankets, as Fenris went to stoke the fire. Less useful, with the holes in the roof, but still better than nothing. On his way back to bed, Fenris picked up the old, moth-eaten blanket from where it sat on top of a chest and tossed it onto the bed. He brushed the ash off his feet before climbing back into his own warm spot.

"I'm going to regret asking, but how _did_ you end up as a cat?" Fenris finally asked, closing his eyes again, before scratching under Anders's chin.

"Hawke was trying to help me. We were doing fine. But, I swear to the Maker's own heart, if that man ever offers to translate something from Old Tevene, just punch him."

"Tevinter magic. I should have known. You mages are all the same," Fenris groused, taking his hand back and moving away.

"We were trying to get Justice out of me. I saw a reference in an old codex to an even older text, and we managed to track a copy of it to the library in the Gallows. I just wanted to be free. I wanted to drink and laugh again. I wanted to give my friend his own life back, untainted. I made a _mistake_ , Fenris. _We_ made a mistake. I wanted to believe it could be undone. I just wanted to make things right."

"So, you studied forbidden magic," Fenris spat.

"Actually, I didn't. It's not forbidden. It's just not practised any more, because most of the reasons you'd need to use it are forbidden. Which is stupid, because if someone _is_ practising forbidden magic, someone needs to be able to clean up after it." Anders shook his head, twitched, and looked even more tired. "I don't have a tail any more. I keep trying to move it, and it isn't there."

"Fool mage." Fenris ignored how his hand crept out from his side, until it wrapped around the abomination's fingers. "Don't think that gets you out of telling the rest of the tale."

"Of course not. Why would that ever work on you?" Anders deadpanned, drily. "We got the book. We even got it out of the tower. The gist of it was that a spirit without a host could survive outside the Fade, for a time, in the form of an animal. I knew we could get him back into the Fade. Feynriel -- you remember Feynriel --was going to help us do it. All we had to do was get him out. Get him untangled from me."

"The only way I have ever heard to separate a demon from its host is to kill the host," Fenris pointed out.

Anders was willing to let the jab pass, this once. "See? Because that's the way they _want it_. There's another way. There's a few other ways, but I could only find one we'd both survive. I don't want to kill him, I just don't want to _be_ him. I just... Tevene and Old Tevene are not the same language. They're similar, but they're not the same, and the Rivaini influence on Modern Tevene is ... There are some words that are spelt the same, but they don't mean the same thing. Part of it, we couldn't be sure of part of it, but he swore to me there was no other way to read that word. Some of those words don't exist any more. Some of those things are _legends_." Anders curled his arm, resting his wrist against the side of his nose, blocking his face. "We did our best to interpret it. We tried so hard. I wanted to believe we could do it, and then I was fuzzy, half a stone, and had ears and a tail."

"Fool mage." This time, it sounded almost affectionate. Exasperated, but affectionate.

"I fought Hawke, when he said he was bringing me here. It's why he wrapped me in a towel. Said he couldn't risk me and Martigan hurting each other. You know that drooling beast can use a doorknob?" There was that flex and shiver, again; the one that would have made him fluff in annoyance, had he still the fur for it.

Fenris felt it happen and reached out to stroke his shoulder and rub behind his ear. Suddenly, he grabbed Anders by the ear and twisted, sharply. "You pissed on me."

"Ow! You called me a sloth demon! It was that or claw your face, and I really didn't want to actually hurt you."

"It would take more than cat claws to actually hurt me."

"Still, you would have taken it as an attack. I wanted to show you I was displeased, not show you I was suicidal."

"You choose words so carefully, mage. Were you suicidal?"

Anders moved his hand off his face and just stared. "Look at me, Fenris."

Fenris made no move to open his eyes, but he coughed, and the corner of his mouth tipped up. "Point."

"Seven days, he told me. Read it straight out of the book. Except that word isn't _days_ , used like that. He missed the mark after the number."

Fenris couldn't read, but he was somewhat familiar with some common Tevene shorthand symbols -- street, river, week -- even if he'd never had reason to consider the age or history of them. "Seven sets of seven. Seven _weeks_."

"And the point for this round goes to the illiterate elf who could read the document better without even seeing it, than the multi-lingual mage who'd been studying it for weeks." Anders sounded frustrated and exhausted.

"So, what happened to your --" _demon_ "-- to Justice?" Fenris asked, moving back toward the mage. For warmth, he told himself. "If he was supposed to have become a cat, but you both changed..."

"I think we hurt him. We definitely hurt me. But, we're... a little less entwined, I guess. His thoughts are clearer -- more clearly his. I still screwed up, again. Almost got us both killed." Anders sighed and curled up around Fenris's arm. "I do wonder if I can adapt that into some more normal shapeshifting spell. I know it's possible to do it, but I've never met anyone who could -- the Warden-Commander, back in Amaranthine, knew a Chasind sorceress, though. Apparently, she could turn into a bereskarn. I just want to be a cat. It wouldn't matter if the Templars used blood magic to track me -- they do that, you know -- because they'd never be able to recognise me, if they saw me at all."

"You'd still be marked, but the mark would be without meaning." Fenris could see the appeal of that, if not the appeal of _being a cat_. "Templars use blood magic?"

"Missed that little bit of hypocrisy, did you? Most people do. They're trained to fear and hate magic; forcibly addicted to lyrium, which makes anyone a little crazy, to give them unnatural powers; and then given enchanted vials of our blood, to use against us. The blood is a part of the whole, and with the right kinds of blood magic, it can be just as good as the whole. We're just lucky more Templars aren't taught the more dangerous uses, and very few Enchanters are willing to even admit those can be arranged." Anders started to shake, both hands kneading at Fenris's ribs.

"That's disgusting. Even if you are a mage." An uncomfortable thought occurred to Fenris about how he might have more in common with Templars than he'd thought. Unnatural powers from the forced application of lyrium? Check. Ingrained hatred of all things magic? Check. 

He'd seen that Templar cast-out down by the docks. Seen the way the man looked at _him_ , specifically, to the exclusion of everyone else, but had always figured it was that he was an elf. Or that the tattoos made him look almost as dangerous as he was. But, it wasn't that, was it? The man could sense the lyrium in him. And as an elf... All the more reason to stay clear of both sides of that fight. He didn't want to be used like that, again, and definitely not against his own cat.

Mage. Abomination.

 _PISS DEMON_.

Cat.

 _His_ cat.

He stroked Anders's hair, scratched between his shoulders, and slowly pulled the mage closer to him. "It's strange listening to you tell stories, now. I wondered what you would tell me, if you could talk. I'd have wondered less, if I knew you were you. But, your voice is almost pleasing, when you're not using it to complain about your oppression."

"I'll tell you right off it was never your _voice_ I had a problem with," Anders admitted, chewing on Fenris's shoulder. "Just your loathing."

"Everything is wrong with this situation. I should hate you more than I already do." Fenris flicked Anders in the nose, and the chewing stopped. "But, you are my cat."

"If Elthina's right -- if an Exalted March is coming -- let's run off to Antiva. You can become a legendary assassin, and I'll be your cat. No one has to know the truth. You'll be the blue light of death, blessed to seemingly eternal life and scarless skin by the magical healing of meow. I'll cook. You kill things. If they find us, they'll wish they'd never started looking."

"Let us not go to Antiva City. I've heard it smells just as bad as Kirkwall." Fenris tucked a knee between Anders's thighs, getting as much of himself as close to the warm, solid body beside him as possible, still petting and cuddling. "And what about Hawke?"

Anders slung his leg over Fenris's hip. "What about Hawke? Hawke's a grown-ass noble with a family history of apostacy. I'm sure he can handle himself."

"Still pissed, I see. Remind me never to mistranslate for you," Fenris drawled.

"Better to be pissed off than pissed on," Anders muttered.

"I can attest to that."

"I'm not sorry. You called me a _sloth demon_."

"You were warm, fuzzy, comfortable, and _possessed_!"

"Still most of those things. Probably less comfortable, though."

"Much. You don't fit under my arm, or between the crook of my knee and my chest. You had to go and turn back into a giant." Fenris shifted against the pillow, his hand curling into a fist against Anders's spine, as he settled his arm.

"Mmm. I know that move. Back to sleep?" Anders mumbled, rubbing his cheek on Fenris's shoulder.

"Hawke's going to be here in a few hours. I want to make sure I'm properly awake when that happens."

"Fenris?"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks. For everything."

"Mmm."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so done. 200% done. Look at me being done with this. 
> 
> These two are fucking horrible, and I adore them.

It took Hawke about three minutes of knocking, before he let himself in. He checked the bedroom first, only to find Fenris sitting in the middle of the bed, cross-legged, with Anders curled up naked before him, head and shoulders in his lap. Fenris hummed some soft song under his breath, eyes locked on Hawke, as he scratched the base of Anders's skull. Anders made some low, contented noise, and rubbed his cheek against Fenris's thigh, eyes closed.

"Bun? Hawke's here." Fenris spoke softly.

Anders made a small, curious sound and blinked up at Hawke. "I am absolutely certain it is entirely your fault that I woke up naked on top of an angry elf, in the middle of the night. _Why didn't you tell him!?_ "

"Anders...?" Hawke choked up and sank to his knees on the floor by the foot of the bed.

"No, Hawke." Anders sat up into a crouch and rubbed his wrist against the bridge of his nose. "You don't get to cry until I'm done having you out for this. What made you think this was a good idea?"

"Yes, do tell," Fenris chimed in from behind him.

Hawke tipped his head to the side to look past Anders to Fenris. "If you knew, you wouldn't have taken him. If I told you later... I wanted him back _alive_."

"Do you think so little of me?" Fenris's voice was cold enough that if the windows hadn't already been broken, they would have been after that.

Anders sat back and rubbed his cheek against Fenris's shoulder. "He does have a point. I thought you were going to kill me, when you woke up."

"You were naked and lying on my chest," Fenris pointed out, scratching Anders behind the ear. "I think that was an appropriate response."

"Yes, and I'm still naked. Hawke, please do something about that." Anders paused. "And not what you usually do about that."

"Yes, please, not in my house."

"Andraste's ass. You -- you're really you," Hawke marvelled, reaching out to take Anders's hand in his own.

Anders looked cross. "Who else would I be?"

"After the first week, I started to worry."

"And to think, _I'm_ the illiterate one." Fenris rolled his eyes. "It didn't say _seven days_ , idiot mage."

Hawke blinked in confusion. "Of course it did. The calligraphy was a little ornate, but it wasn't that bad."

"It said seven _weeks_ , Hawke. That wasn't an ornament." Anders flexed his hand tightly and pressed it against Hawke's forehead.

"You knew."

"Of course, I knew! I knew it as soon as I saw the page you were looking at!" Anders shouted.

"You couldn't have told me this?" Hawke squinted up around the hand on his face.

"I tried to. _But, I was a cat at the time_!"

"That's his reason for just about everything, right now," Fenris pointed out, "and I think it's a good one. Having spent weeks interpreting cat, it is not a condition well-suited to conveying complex concepts."

"You still should have told him what happened," Anders groused, taking his hand back and licking the side of it, before rubbing his face. 

"Well, I didn't. Not much for it now. I was worried about you." 

Fenris shifted forward to crouch next to Anders, in almost the exact same position. "You lied to me, mage. You trusted me to take care of him, as long as I didn't know what he was. Did you really think I would break the healer?"

"Well, I didn't think he was going to turn into a cat, either, and see where that got us!" Hawke tugged at his beard. "I panicked. I just panicked."

"Considering the last time I panicked, I woke up from it surrounded by corpses and clutching the heart of a slave hunter, I might accept that excuse." Fenris glared down, regal and catlike.

Hawke swallowed hard. There had been only one cat between them, the night before, but Anders had changed back and kept the habits and Fenris... he'd never noticed how feline Fenris was, before. "Fresh apple tarts from the bakery on the plaza, every day, for another week."

"Two weeks." Fenris and Anders spoke at the same time.

"Done." Hawke stood up and reached for Anders, who pulled his head away, arched his back, and hissed.

"Clothes first, Hawke. I am not letting you touch me until I am dressed, and we are _home_."

A sharp pain rattled down the inside of Fenris's ribs. Bun -- _Anders_ \-- was going home with Hawke. Of course he was. That had been the plan all along. What was this ache in his bones, now that it was happening? Foolishness.

He resurfaced to find the discussion had moved on without him, and both Hawke and Anders were looking at him expectantly. "What?"

Anders rubbed his cheek on Fenris's shoulder. "He said there's gold-drop soup and roast pheasant in the bag. Do you want anything else, since he's going to have to come back, anyway?"

 _Yes, I want you to leave me my cat._ "No. Just dress the naked mage."

"Fenris, tha--"

"You can express your thanks in the form of apple tarts, if you must express it at all," Fenris snapped.

Hawke went out again, and Anders pressed his nose against Fenris's ear. "Thank you for everything."

Fenris wrapped his arms around Anders. "Fool cat."

Anders meowed quite convincingly, and Fenris lit up trying to still the shaking that seized him.

"I know," Anders breathed.

They stayed like that, until Hawke returned with clothes for Anders. An obnoxiously flamboyant robe, in fact. New.

"Hawke, I'm a healer, not the Empress Celene," Anders complained, trying to find all the buckles and buttons to keep the thing on.

"Well, you definitely look like a queen, in that," Fenris teased.

Anders looked like he might say something, but his breath caught in his throat for a long moment. "Grace night?" he asked, finally.

Fenris nodded. "I'll be there. I'm sure your time as a cat hasn't improved your game."

"Eat me."

Fenris didn't answer, but his eyebrow looked like it might need to be rescued from his hairline.

Hawke opened his mouth, but Fenris pointed to the door. "Out. There are too many mages in my house."

"Yeah, we love you too, Broody," Hawke retorted, on his way down the stairs. 

The door slammed and Fenris curled up on the bed and stared silently into the fire, for a long time.

* * *

Time and apple tarts went by, and Fenris found his life lacking. He began following Anders's example and setting bowls of cream out for strays, hoping one might like him enough to stay. Wouldn't be Bun, but he missed the purring and the fluff.

Grace nights turned into comedies, as Fenris exploited the few cat instincts Anders had yet to shake, sprinkling dried catmint in Merrill's hair, toying with a feather just at the level of the table. Anders took it fairly well, with some glaring and complaints about what a useless asshole Fenris was. 

It was Varric who first started to notice something else going on, though. Anders rubbing his cheek on Fenris's shoulder, when he thought no one was looking. Fenris absently reaching out to scratch behind Anders's ear. Anders was still Anders, certainly -- the healer and revolutionary they knew and loved -- but he was looking a little like _Fenris's_ cat, around the edges. As far as Varric knew, Fenris didn't even like cats, and he definitely didn't much like Anders. Something about that creepy Fade-cat thing, the other month, most likely. Still, he took notes. One never knew when this kind of thing would come in handy, whether as a plotline or as ammunition.

Every once in a while, Anders would come back to his clinic to find a string of bells and feathers hung by the door or a well-wrapped packet of catmint and ham. Each was accompanied by a little note bearing nothing but the Tevene 'week' symbol. He'd look fondly at Fenris, the next time they met, and Fenris would always snort and look away.

Long past the apple tarts, weeks turned into months, and still this went on, quietly, under it all. Finally, Anders showed up at Fenris's door, with a large covered basket. 

"What are you doing here, mage?"

"Does this mean we're not running away to Antiva, together?" Anders shot back, offering the basket.

Fenris accepted the basket and stepped back, letting Anders follow him into the house. "Bribing me with more apple tarts?"

"Among other things. But, it's not a bribe, this time. It's just a gift." Anders closed the door.

Setting the basket down, Fenris pulled back the cloth and found a small grey cat, sleeping, and several bags and bundles. He looked devastated, as the hollowness in his chest crept outward. "Are you...? Bun...?"

Anders leaned down and rubbed his cheek against Fenris's ear. "I'm right where you left me. I just thought maybe you shouldn't be alone, any more. If I'm wrong, I'll take him back with me. There's always room for a cat in the clinic."

Fenris reached up and scratched behind Anders's ear. "What's his name?"

"That's up to you and him."

The cat woke up and blinked up at the two of them, calm but confused. "Mew?"

"How sacrilegious do you think it would be, if I named him Shartan?" Fenris asked, fluttering his fingers over the cat.

Anders blinked. "I think it says a lot about you, that you would even consider it. Says even more that you're asking _me_."

"You're my cat. Who else would I ask?"

"You are now a very lucky man, with two very lucky cats."

"Are you very lucky?" Fenris asked, quietly.

"Luckiest cat ever to cat. Unlike some people, you didn't drag me into the deep roads. And that catmint-sprinkled ham? Darktown is lucky I got out of bed, the next morning. I could have spent the whole day lying in bed, eating ham and grinning at the ceiling."

"You should have. You need a day off." Fenris squeezed the edge of Anders's ear. "Why are you so good to me, mage?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

Fenris paused for a moment. "Shartan, then?"

"I like it. It's offensive, but strangely appropriate, just like you." Anders grinned, and Fenris slung an elbow back, knocking him on his ass. "I'm still right!"

"What's in the rest of these?" 

"Jerky, feathers, apples... stuff for my elf and his new cat."

" _Your_ elf?" Fenris bristled.

"Hey, if I'm your cat, then you're my elf. Your shoulders and ankles belong to me and Shartan."

Fenris laughed and scooped up the little grey cat from where it was sniffing at bundles of stuff. "Tell Hawke he's forgiven."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] The Spirit of Meow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5208086) by [Kess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kess/pseuds/Kess)




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